Kissing Jack
by Tigerdust
Summary: Sweet Janto woven through memories, seen through the eyes of our favorite tourist guide. Nothing too intense, except for the kissing part.
1. Chapter 1

God, this song was boring. It was nothing but bass set to, what's worse, awful lighting. And watching Jack dance with her. For Christ sake, she's married now! It must be the whiskey making me crazy.

Normally, I wouldn't indulge in drink. But Gwen's making this her fairy princess night and Lord knows she wants to dance with the man who is my prince. I steel myself against the wall; the ebbing tide of jealousy flowing over me just briefly. It has before; I'm used to letting it flow and subside.

The lights and the whiskey and them; I can't stand it anymore. I walk up quietly after the third time watching Owen and Tosh watching me watching Jack and Gwen dancing while Gwen watches Rhys from the corner of her eye. I think I just hurt my own head. Why must I be in love with him?

It's not hard to read my face as I stutter to cut in. At first, Jack is rather cold for himself. Maybe it's the whiskey on my breath, maybe it was that dance with her. Who knows? Jack can be a mystery unto himself when he chooses. And I'd always choose him.

He takes one last glance at her, and sees her safe with Rhys. I begin to sway easier, content in the knowledge he is mine. That she would never cross that line again, or maybe that he would never let her. I hope for a combination of the two. The bitterness ebbs as his hands entwine with my back and the skin of his neck grazes mine.

That scent; I close my eyes. That scent takes me back to that first moment I knew we had something extraordinary going on. Okay, the second. The first meeting with the pterodactyl doesn't count. I lay as a possum at the feet of a Lisa hell-bent on destruction. Consumed by my own destructive grief and disillusionment, I deserve death. I want death to come for all I've done and all the havoc I've caused. While he's not watching I let little bits of water seep under my lips.

_You could have bowed out gracefully  
But you didn't  
You knew enough to know to leave well enough alone  
But you wouldn't_

I can feel the blissful force of pain when your lungs can't expel the water anymore. I concentrate on the throbbing in my head. Then I feel myself being pulled away by warm arms, or being pulled back towards life. I guess that might depend on your point of view. The first thing is that scent he has. Those pheromones that fill your senses with memories, gibberish comforting senses like cinnamon rolls on Sunday mornings or popcorn at the cinema, something indescribable and deeply personal, nearly spiritual.

_I drive myself crazy trying to stay out of my own way  
The messes that i made  
But my secrets are so safe_

And then he kisses you. After you tell him you hate him, and spit in his face and the face of the people you've hid yourself from. And there is grief, hope, relief, and something more to be had. Then there are his eyes, which speak the volumes that don't quite spill from his tongue. The worry, the restrain of anger and pity, and worst of all the understanding. He wouldn't have let me, but I'm sure I would have shriveled into a little ball right there and shot myself given half the opportunity.

_The only one who gets me  
__Yeah, you get me  
It's amazing to me_

How every day  
Every day, every day  
You save my life

Then there was our first real kiss, the kind that doesn't require life saving skills. I still worry on the deepest nights about him running again, searching for that something he'll not tell me. I almost melt into him on that dance floor. It might as well be us getting married. A boy can dream, a man can wish for reality, can't he?

_I come around all broken down and crowded out  
And you are a comfort  
Sometimes the place I go is so deep and dark and desperate  
I don't know  
I don't know_

He wants to stay, with me. He came back, for me. Not even Gwen could be that blind. I reached forward to kiss him and he didn't turn away. He never turned away from me. His hands reached back and cemented his lips to mine. I hold him closer, afraid the Rift will destroy our bond like it destroyed Tommy and his namesake. He didn't even have to ask forgiveness. I'll always understand, somehow.  
_  
How every day  
Every day, every day  
You save my life_

Something moves the Earth. Something stronger than gravity. Is it God? Is it love? I leave that thinking to higher men. At least, men high enough to state their opinion. I only know that he is here with me, dancing with me, in public. And it isn't just because others can see us, it is because for the first time I believe I am safe. That if he goes, I'll be coming along. That he has chosen me, and no Doctor could inject something in him for him to forget that.

_Sometimes I swear I don't know if I am coming or going  
But you always say something without even knowing  
That I am hanging onto your words with all my might  
And it's alright  
Yeah I am alright  
For one more night  
Every day_

_Every day_

_You save my life_

Creator's Note: The song is by Rascall Flatts and I think we all need this very sweet reminder at a very emotional time in TW and for a new friend of mine whom I dedicated this fic to (you didn't think I'd forget did you?). I don't own the song or the characters, but I do own my feelings. Which is really something in this day and age.


	2. Chapter 2

There is an echo in the Hub tonight, a deep sigh. Whether this is from loneliness or satisfaction, we'll never know. Jack and I are alone on a Saturday night, no rift activity to report. All is as it should be with the world.

We've begun to whisper secrets to each other, things that lift visible weights off both our chests. The taste of whiskey makes his voice sweeter, and I lean closer. His eyes are closed as he describes a mission with him and John. I ask him about Grey, and he doesn't stutter, but for a moment. His eyes open and focus on me, questioning the reasons I want to know.

He knows those reasons. I want to be there for him, be apart of his life. The leather chair beneath me sinks a little further into comfort. Jack rises and leans over his desk. In a swift motion, he sits mere inches from me, hovering on his desk. His biceps rage with fluidity and his palms hold most of his weight.

"Why do you want to know, Ianto Jones?"

"To be apart of your pain, apart of your healing. Don't you think I deserve to know, Jack?"

"What would give you that impression."

"I left my basement because of you. What if I helped you come away from yours?"

He is stunned and the chair isn't momentarily as comfortable as it was. I shift and move to the doorway.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Wait."

I stop with my hand on the door, my back turned to him. From the corner of my eye, I can see him studying me liberally.

"I'll tell you if you play my game."

"You've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

"More or less. Is it worth the risk?"

"With you, Jack, it always is."

His eyes glance to the CCTV cameras and he whispers two things into my ears, both making me blush, but I comply. Who am I kidding? I'd burn the sun out for this man, not that he'd ask me to. Without good reason.

As I release my arms from their jacket, I think about how true it was. How, even in the face of my sincere insubordination, Jack never gave up on me. He saw himself in there somewhere, recognized himself for the monster I saw him as. He hired me knowing I was attentive, knowing I didn't have another soul to tell Torchwood secrets to. Knowing I would figure it out.

He would have liked Lisa had he met her before the Battle. Everyone liked Lisa. A large part of me died with her in that reconstruction room, a larger part on the day she was discovered. The day I excepted it was over. I hadn't been allowed back in the Archives or in the basement for over a month. There had been a large stack of paperwork when they finally trusted me again.

But I don't care about any of the others, not really. Sure, in some ways I always will, but when you see him, eyes lit and naked as a jaybird in the middle of his office, asking you to join him, how could you not love that? The countdown begins and I go running across the Hub, glad he had me turn off the the footage for once. Seeing him walk around naked is alright, he lives here, but I'm rarely naked in my own flat.

He catches me on the threshold of the Archives, shaking his head. I squirm from the grasp of his hands three more times until I can't resist the jagged breaths rippling across his chest. Until I can't describe the frenzy I feel as his thigh touches mine. Until he is less than an inch from me at the door of his office.

"I win. Now tell me about Grey."

"I changed my mind."

Jack forces me back into the chair and leans over me. As our bodies meet, we kiss, and my lips continue to travel down his neck and around his chest, tasting the scent of victory and defeat, reminding myself that there is always tomorrow. Then the door to the Hub rolls back. And Gwen walks in the office.

"Jack, I want to talk to you about...Woah!"

Crap. She exits as abruptly as she enters. Jack's face revels in the moment, mine in guilt of being caught. And honestly, why doesn't anyone knock anymore?!

"Sorry Ianto."

"Doesn't matter."

She makes a plea for Jonah. Doesn't she understand Jack's position? Begging won't change his mind. Well, it might, but she'd have to crawl over my dead body first. Which, considering my resilience, might take awhile to happen.

"We could have used you an hour ago for naked Hide and Seek."

"He cheats. He always cheats."

C/N: Now you know how Jack always cheats. And I own nothing. This disclaimer thing is getting so boring.


	3. Chapter 3

The seconds tick away before Ianto. His mind is alive with the tapping, his fingers not even twitching against the small steel buttons. His flesh is cool, and he barely shivers. Jack's eyes penetrate him, not moving. No one looks at him like that, no one has ever really looked at him like that.

Briefly, his mind moves out of boredom into a memory of Lisa. It's almost like an automatic response and he blinks just briefly, seeing a date that he planned at an art gallery opening. He remembers Lisa just standing in awe of one large Neoclassical print and Ianto remembers staring at her. She looked so innocent and so beautiful.

"You blinked, Jones. You know what that means." His voice is heavily wreathed with drink, but he doesn't slur. Jack has amazing control over himself when need be.

Ianto looks back, sliding into reality. "You want me to try and get out of it?"

"Depends on if you're willing to pay the penalty or not." He arches his eyebrow suggestively, seductively. Almost as if he can see past me.

"No thanks, I'll drink." I have a hypothesis on Jack and those pheromones of his. Innocently enough, I did some private research on his blood type. Apparently, the mixture of blood, sweat, and even his tears attracts certain types of individual. Oh, lucky me to be that type.

Ianto knocks back his fourth, or possibly fifth shot, of Wild Turkey. He's not going to let on that he feels nothing. He'd rather let Jack think he was taking advantage of him or luring him into a trap. What Jack doesn't know is that you don't lure the willing. Or maybe he does. Jack doesn't seem to be the type of person that lives for the guise of discretion. Ianto supposed that it probably had more to do with living forever than anything else. Of course, one would think an immortal would have patience. Bless us all in Cardiff for getting the one with the attention span of a thirteen year old playing a video game.

Ianto can hear the box rattling under the table as Jack lifts it from behind the desk. "Oh no, sir. Not that one again."

"What do you mean not that one again? And how many times must I tell you..."

"Fourteen."

"Fourteen?!"

"I've been keeping count."

"Oh? And what else have you been keeping count of?" His eyebrow raises again, God help us all.

I click the stopwatch, an unassuming flick of my wrist. Oh, the havoc my unassuming flicks have created. "Thirteen minutes, eight seconds."

"Until what?"

"From the moment we began until you suggested strip Connect Four."

"Who said anything about strip Connect Four?"

"With you, sir, it's implied."

"Am I really that predictable, Jones?"

"They could run Big Ben off of you, sir."

"Had a boyfriend with that nickname once."

"Oh, shut up Jack!"

In a second, Ianto jumps from his chair and swings around to Jack's side of the desk. "Who knew the man who brought me back to life would be so bloody talkative?"

"Careful, Ianto. I'll have to go get that sexual harassment pamphlet." He looked down at Ianto's Oxfords, mere centimeters from Jack's crotch.

"I remember what happened last time we got that pamphlet out. Is it still...?" Ianto arched his head and Jack smiled.

"I can't remember." Liar.

"Shall I make us some coffee to clear our heads, sir?"

Ianto felt himself being pulled towards the Captain's chair, his tie in the lead, slipping over Jack's shoulder while their bodies align. "What if I don't want us to have clear heads?"

"That's your prerogative, sir."

"It is, is it?"

"You are the captain."

"Am I now?"

"You are my captain." Ianto leans forward, picking out each syllable with a lazy Welsh twist and growling it in his lowest bass voice.

Jack turns his head, millimeters of air between the two. Ianto begins gasping, the pheromones beginning to cloud his judgment further. He can't help it, doesn't want to, although a little, sane voice tells him that it's not right to do this. He doesn't care to listen right now.

Jack's lips have an overpowering taste of Wild Turkey to them. Ianto finds this out running his finger along the rim of Jack's lower lip, a tiny groan escaping from the Captain, who leans down in his chair just a bit, resisting the urge to smile. Ianto doesn't bother to tell him that that smile is what turns him on the most. Okay, while Jack is clothed.

Ianto licks his lips just briefly and brings his hand along Jack's collar bone, tracing the pattern of the bone along with his heaving breaths. His hand rests behind Jack's neck and he hovers for just another second. One point five minutes have passed, according to the stopwatch. He turns his head away just briefly. Jack throws the stopwatch down the portal.

"You may have to go retrieve that."

"You want me to move?"

"Do you think you can?"

"Yes." I kiss him, God help me, I kiss him. I can feel my hands and his hands caressing that point between the shoulder blades. His skin is a little oilier than mine, his tan deeper, nearly the color of my freckles. Not that a lot of people have seen those freckles.

I come up for air and my eyes focus on his buttons, his eyes roving down where mine are concentrated. I bring my fingers down and tease him, painfully popping each button from the shirt. I could carry on like this for a long time. Jack rips the last button off. I'll have to buy him a new shirt.

My head tilts down and I begin at his neck, the center of his pheromones. The smell would drive a sane person to drink. Maybe that's why I like it. I'm not sane. I kept a half-converted Cyber girl to try and save her. What screams sane about that?! I think romantics are all crazy personally. Because they believe this is love. Okay, so I don't know what this is all. I all I know is that I'm tasting the flesh of a man that makes me shiver, that makes me feel...secure? Happy? Hell, he makes me feel. That should be enough.

"Can't wait. Portal now."

"Seven minutes, eight seconds."

"What?"

"Before I completely seduced you."

He smiles as he grabs me and jumps down the portal after almost throwing me on his bed. His pants are gone in a flash, his plain white boxers hiding absolutely nothing. His breathing is ragged, clouded with a perfume of lust. Lonely men can make the best lovers, especially immortal ones.

"What is it you want, Captain?"

"You."

"This will never do, though. I'm fully dressed."

"Oh, I intend to remedy that."

"You and what army? Who says I intend to follow orders?"

"I do."

"And who are you?"

"The Captain."

It seems like good enough reasoning to me. Jack is on top of me in a second, his hands moving swiftly, releasing the vest and the shirt. I'm not as toned or tan as he, but he relishes my body. I don't really ask why. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? Oh stop, it's not what you think.

He leaves the tie, beginning with his kisses there. A devilish smile and glint in his eyes tell me. He begins to kiss me to my collar bone and down to my very ticklish midsection. I begin to squirm, the pressure of his lips and his tongue are too much. I burst out in a laugh.

"That's a first."

"Sorry, Jack. You know I'm ticklish there."

"Imagine that. You're losing your composure, Ianto Jones. I think we should find it again."

He raises my arms above my head, only slight rough. He can be incredibly tender. Especially after the fourth day when you haven't moved in your apartment and he arrives with soup and demanding that you shower. And when he says you, he doesn't just mean you. I don't think my soap's ever recovered from that incident.

His lips caress every part of me and how I long to return the favor. I'd do anything for Jack Harkness. He drives me mad with passion. He moves his hands away from my wrists, cupping the small of my back as I lean forward, groaning. His tongue, his lips engulf my member. It's always a surprise when he does it, never the same way twice. It can begin at the shaft or begin at the balls or even somewhere in the...sorry, what was I saying?

I grab for him, I have to. He's my leverage.

"Hold on, Ianto. Not yet. We've got all night."

"We'd best take a breather then."

"Maybe. It's your turn, after all."

"Cheeky bastard."

"Would you want me any other way?"

"No."

He scoots toward the wall and I press myself to it. I can feel the wall with my hands, Jack right beneath me. His breath smells a bit less like liquor, mine a bit more like mint. My eyes rake his body hungrily. I can't stand it anymore.

My hands move against him and I find myself propelled against the wall. He scoots forward just a bit and I view the most perfectly-shaped back. He can feel my breath and my hands as they move across his warm body, kneading and massaging each part. I can feel myself coming to a point of exhilaration.

"Want this then, Ianto?"

"Need it."

"I'll always do what I can for you."

"Oh, captain, my captain."

"Fuck me, Ianto." His eyes look back toward mine, momentarily, a bit of pleading in them.

He knows just how to make you feel, just that one second more. He knows the muscles to clench, the sounds to make. He knows how to press your body back into the wall and leave you feeling so complete and yet so frenzied. He knows how to push and pull. He takes orders just as well as he gives.

"Ten minutes, twelve seconds." I barely can contain it.

"God, Ianto. You're so sexy when you count time to me."

I feel myself moving forward into his hips, my hands steady and he is close. So am I.

We move in tandem, my body sandwiched between the sheets and his weight. My hand feels its way to his well-groomed cock, hard against an absent wind, his face leaned back into mine. We're groaning, making no sense, and each wants to say something, wants to feel all these things.

In that moment there is pleasure and for a brief second I can feel him right before he begins spurting over both of us. I release into his buttocks, the warmth spreading into the sheets. He collapses over me and then rolls over. I move into his pheromones, nuzzling his neck.

For me, Ianto Jones, it's all about being with Jack Harkness. It's all in his touch.


End file.
